


Haela

by Catsnake



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 19:58:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8547064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catsnake/pseuds/Catsnake
Summary: Two old friends meet up for a little while, and Saskia tries a new kind of smoking.





	

Saskia sat at the desk in the small corner of her chambers she used as a study, resting her forehead against a clenched fist. She was tired of looking over reports--the death fog beyond Vergen's edge, Henselt's army beyond: she wanted to be able to _do something,_ but all was still at an uneasy standstill. The Witcher Geralt of Rivia and his party had arrived last week, and she hoped in the upcoming meeting to be held in a few days that some new plan could be made. She was pushing herself away from the desk when she heard a light knock at her door.

"You," she said with surprise upon opening it: Iorveth stood at her door, illuminated in the dark of the night by the flickering candlelight from within her chambers, the shadows playing at the scarred edge of his face.

"Do you have time for an old acquaintance?" the elf said.

"You can come in," said Saskia, stepping away from the door and guiding him into her study.

"How goes it here, with your dwarves? I know that all of Aedirn still utters _Saskia the Dragonslayer_ with awe," he said, taking on a seat on a wooden chair as she did the same opposite him.

She smiled. The Dragonslayer myth--that had been Iorveth's own idea, many years ago. She had not liked the idea of having fame tied to a lie, but it was true that at the heart of it, what she cared most for was protecting Vergen and its people. And to safely lead them, well, she needed her own secret safe.

"You will hear the details of the state of things at the meeting. Suffice to say the aid of your Aen Seidhe archers will be appreciated. We do not have Henselt's numbers."

"You heard?"

Saskia could not help a smile.

"You Squirrels are not so quiet as you might believe. At least not to me, with my ears here."

"So long as humans do not hear us coming," he said, shifting his gaze into the fire.

She stared at him for a long while then, to the sound of only the crackling of the fire.

"I know what you think of me," he said, fixing his gaze upon her with his one un-ruined eye, and meeting it, Saskia momentarily imagined what he must have looked like before his disfigurement. To humans, he must have been quite beautiful, she realized. Perhaps that was why, in their hatred, they had marred him.

"Your actions speak for themselves, Iorveth. I know your goals are true. But you are a terrorist."

"And I know I will not convince you otherwise."

"Joining with Geralt, helping Vergen...there's still time for others to come to see you as valorous. Not widely, it can't undo what you have done, but...here, in Vergen, perhaps even Upper Aedirn...we shall see."

Iorveth said nothing. He produced a pipe from a pocket in his coat, and felt around until he found a small pouch, the contents of which he carefully packed into the pipe. It wasn't tobacco, Saskia could tell, from the color: an herbal green instead of tarry black.

"What others say of me concerns me less than than our victories," Iorveth said finally, returning the pouch to a pocket. "People will say all kinds of things. Half of them will never be true anyway."

"That's certain," Saskia sighed in agreement. "The people of Vergen have all sorts of lurid rumors about us since your recent arrival." Iorveth, in the midst of producing a flint lighter, stopped and stared wholly at her. "Their imaginations seem determined to contradict the epithet of _Virgin of Aedirn,_ despite something between us being utter fiction."

"I see," the elf said quietly, quickly returning his gaze to the flint lighter. He struck a spark, taking a long drag on the pipe as it began to smolder. "I hope you don't mind," he said after.

"No," Saskia said, "but what is it?"

"Medicine," grinned Iorveth. He took a long breath of smoke, and offered the pipe to her.

"I'm not so certain," said Saskia, eyeing the smoldering herbs.

"It could only help you feel more at ease," he said. "It's nice, on the occasion that I have the opportunity."

Curiously, she took the pipe and inhaled. Iorveth watched her coolly. After a moment, she handed it back.

"Am I supposed to feel something?" she laughed. 

"Try again," he said, handing her the pipe.

Saskia took three more long drags of smoke. She sat, closing her eyes.

"I think I feel it now, but very slightly."

"I suppose dragons have a high tolerance for such things," Iorveth said. He was smiling amiably.

The study had filled with smoke. Saskia drew from the pipe until mere embers remained.

"Now I'm starting to understand, I think," she said. She handed him the pipe. "Do you have more?"

It took him an eternity to find the small pouch and carefully refill the pipe. Saskia took it back appreciatively.

" _Smoking like a true dragon_ ," Iorveth mumbled in Elder Speech, laughing.

Saskia's grasp of the elf language was fairly loose, and yet somehow it was still hilarious to her. Seeing her in a fit of laughter caused Iorveth to chuckle again.

They sat for a moment in a kind of warm, soft silence.

"I'm glad you've come to Vergen," Saskia said.

Iorveth smiled.

She sat back in her chair. "I'm strangely hungry," she told him.

" _That happens_ ," he said. "Hm?" "That happens," he repeated, in the common tongue.

She rose, and he watched her contentedly.

"It is late, but...should I send send for food from the kitchens?"

"Yes," Iorveth said immediately.

Soon, a fairly bewildered young servant was at the door with a tray of all sorts of food items: halves of bread with warm lard, bowls of fat grapes, great wedges of aged cheese, two entire roasted and seasoned Aedirnian pheasants. Saskia gave the boy extra orens and bade him goodnight.

She had never seen such pure warmth on the rogue elf's face as when she returned to the study with the massive tray. Before long, she was shocked to realize they stared at a wooden tray of merely crumbs and bones. She leaned back with a pleasant sigh. Iorveth's eye was closed, his posture as relaxed as she had ever seen it. She wondered suddenly if anyone else had ever seen him like this, if he had ever allowed it--knowing him and the life he led, she doubted it.

 After a long while, Iorveth stood. The fire in the study fireplace was dim by now, just small red tongues licking embers. 

"I should return," he said, and from the cool evenness of his speech, she could tell his sober presence of mind was back. She nodded, rising also. "I'll see you again soon," she said.

The elf crossed lightly to the door, and had his hand upon the latch, when she called, "Iorveth!"

He looked over his shoulder at her with his good eye.

"Thank you," she said.

She thought she might have glimpsed a smile, and then the elf had opened the door, and disappeared quietly into the night.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a big fan of the most common interpretation of Iorveth's dream--that pipe wasn't tobacco, and a rogue elf with his personality would totally get high when he has the chance to indulge. 
> 
> *The title is, according to the Internet, the in-universe Elder Speech (Elvish) word for "medicine".


End file.
